


Since he was a little one...

by Gottaread2



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Childhood, Dress Up, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Imagination, Kid Fic, Makeover, Makeup, Parent-Child Relationship, Temper Tantrums
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:08:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25569511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gottaread2/pseuds/Gottaread2
Summary: Set during Oswald's childhood. One morning, a four years old Oswald wakes up before his mother and decides to dress himself. When she wakes up, he shows her and it doesn't go as he planned.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot & Gertrud Kapelput
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	Since he was a little one...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [candlelight_smiles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/candlelight_smiles/gifts).



> This is a gift for my tumblr buddy as a thank you for the lovely Oswald gifsets! For anyone who loves Oswald as much as I do, you should check out twyly57 on tumblr. They do some lovely work!

Some days, when one wakes, are immediate. On such days, there is an instance of suddenly becoming alert to the surrounding world without any of the usual grogginess between sleeping and waking. It is as though a curtain were lifted, the show begun, and events are ready to unfold as the plot of life’s play. So it was for the young Oswald Kapelput that morning. His eyes snapped open, bright and full of a curious energy that seemed only possible for someone as young as four years to muster so early in the morning. He felt like he could hardly wait to begin the day. There was an impulse to throw off the covers and leap from the bed, but Oswald was a good boy. His mother told him so daily, so he knew it must be true. So instead, he rolled silently in the sheets to peer back at his mother beside him. To his dismay, she was still sound asleep. Being the sweet boy his mother told him he was, Oswald decided not to disturb her rest. He would just have to start the day on his own.

Carefully, Oswald slid out of bed until his toes could reach the ground. The floorboards were cold beneath his feet and Oswald muffled his surprised gasp with hands over his mouth. Slowly, his feet adjusted to the cold. Only then he tiptoed away. As he left the bedroom, he was sure to quietly shut the door behind himself. It squeaked only a little bit, but the soft sounds of his mother’s uninterrupted snores reassured Oswald that she still slept.

Safely outside, Oswald giggled, pleased by his own sneakiness. The rest of the house was his playground now as long as he was careful not to make too much noise. Oswald padded down the hall to the bathroom. After “heeding nature’s call” as his mother often called it, Oswald pushed his step stool to the sink to wash his hands. 

Feeling quite grown up to be up and about and taking care of his own needs, Oswald decided to next brush his teeth. He grabbed his purple toothbrush and his bubble gum toothpaste. Then he spotted his mother’s minty toothpaste in the very grown up looking tube. He smiled to himself as the idea entered his head. He swiped up the mint toothpaste, untwisting the cap and squeezing the tube over his toothbrush. The light green paste plopped onto the bristles. He might have squeezed too hard because some plopped onto the counter top as well. He paid it no mind.

Curiously, Oswald popped the toothbrush into his mouth and made a face. The flavor was bitter and terrible, the mint stinging his tongue. He wasn't sure why anyone would choose to torture themselves with the stuff, but if his mother used it so would he. He brushed his teeth, scrubbing each tooth front, top, and back the way his mother had showed him. He went quick as he could, rinsing his mouth of the horrible mint immediately after, and wiped his tongue on his sleeve. However, the after effects of mint weren't so bad. It left his breath cool and he imagined he now had the power to breathe ice as a dragon breathes fire. He breathed out, huffing on the mirror with his icy-feeling breath. To his delight, despite how frosty it felt, his breath still fogged the glass. Oswald doodled a few stick figure dragons across it.

After tiring of doodling, Oswald left the bathroom contemplating what to do now. The next logical step would be to get dressed. The thought was appealing. Oswald had never dressed himself before and the idea of picking out what to wear himself was exciting. He would have to be very sneaky to do it because all the clothes were back in the bedroom with his mother. However, this wouldn't deter Oswald. It actually made the prospect even more exciting. His mother would be so surprised when she woke up!

Oswald traipsed back down the hall, gripped the doorknob and slowly turned it. He pushed the door open and this time there was no creaking. He was getting better at sneaking and felt very clever. He made his way to the dresser with silent steps because that was where his clothes were tucked away. Opening the drawers without making a sound proved challenging, but somehow he managed it. Oswald looked through the contents of the drawer feeling less than impressed. His humdrum wardrobe failed to live up to his earlier excitement. 

Oswald crouched down, deep in thought. Dressing on his own felt like a special occasion and he wanted to wear something special for it. His mother kept both of their "nice" clothing hung in the closet. He was a little nervous to open it himself. The closet, though small, was dark and not so small that there couldn't be _something_ scary hiding inside it. Oswald didn't believe in monsters of course. He'd outgrown that sort of silly fear. But ghosts were another story entirely. 

Oswald stepped warily, quiet now for reasons other than sneakiness, until he stood before the closet. The door loomed before him menacingly ordinary. _Too ordinary._ That's what the ghosts wanted him to think, Oswald was sure. He glanced back at his sleeping mother for reassurance. If something happened, she was just right there. Oswald summoned his courage, held his breath, and opened the closet. No ghosts. The closet was dark, but not as dark as Oswald expected. Morning's bright light breached the darkness, illuminating and revealing that there was nothing more than ordinary closet things within. Oswald felt relieved, his previous fear let out in an exhale of breath. 

Oswald ran his hands across his mother's hanging clothes, delighting in the smooth silks and soft cashmere and other fabrics he didn't know the names of. His mother had expensive tastes, a trait he seemed to have inherited. He wasn't sure where she'd gotten the beautiful garments hanging there. They weren't the sorts of things they could normally afford, but they had always been there. Sometimes, as his mother looked at them, she would dab at watery eyes and appear gloomy. Oswald wasn't sure why her clothes made her sad. Clothes didn't make him sad and he thought hers were really pretty.

Oswald was still stroking through the closet's contents absentmindedly when his fingers brushed something feathery in texture. He pushed aside a dress and a coat to see what it was. Dangling between the dress and coat there was a fetching feather boa in various violet shades. Oswald gently tugged it down. The boa fell loose easily and floated down to land at his feet. He picked it up and rubbed the feathers against his cheek. It was so soft! Oswald looped it over his shoulders and round his neck. Looking down at the himself, Oswald grinned. The feather boa made him feel fancy.

He dug further into the closet. At the very back, Oswald's formal wear was neatly hung. He owned one suit complete with jacket, pants, and bow tie. There were also three button down shirts and, in a box on the floor, a pair of shiny, black shoes. Oswald petted the boa as he considered his options. The full suit seemed like too much. He wanted the focus of his outfit to be the feather boa. He opted for the suit pants and a black button down and his shiny shoes. He took down the clothes and began dressing.

Oswald started with the pants. He slipped them on and with only one button to deal with they were easy enough. The button down proved a bit more difficult and Oswald spent many minutes fiddling with the buttons trying to get the shirt done back up. The shoes he decided not to bother with. They were noisy, although the decision had much more to do with his inability to tie laces. He hadn't learned that yet.

Oswald stepped back from the closet to strut around in his outfit. He watched the way the boa trailed behind him as he moved. He liked the way it floated lightly through the air and he liked the way it made him feel. It really seemed just the sort of thing he'd wanted when looking for something special to wear. He was sure his mother wouldn't mind him borrowing it. He twirled a few more times and then his eyes landed on something else within the closet. It was his mother's makeup box. With it, Oswald was certain he could get the perfect final touches to complete his look. 

Oswald opened the box, entranced by golden lipstick tubes and colorful eyeshadows and various little containers of nail polish. He picked out a nail polish, one the same color as the feather boa, and began applying it to his fingernails. His brows knit in concentration as he tried to steady his hand enough to paint. He became increasingly frustrated as the brush inevitably brushed against his skin along with his nails leaving spots of purple polish on his fingers. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't paint within the nail. 

Forgetting himself, Oswald barked out an angry squeal. He slammed the nail polish bottle down and kicked his legs. Angry tears gathered in his eyes. He decided he didn't care anymore! He dipped the brush back in the bottle and rapidly swiped it across his fingernails without care. Once every nail was covered, he closed up the bottle and returned the offending polish back to the makeup box with a thunk. He glared down at his messy nails and hated them. He sniffled and took several deep breaths. As he calmed, Oswald noticed the bottle of nail polish remover. He took it out and, using a cotton ball, dabbed at his fingers with the remover until they were all cleaned up. He felt better after that and decided not to try painting his nails again.

Somehow, his little outburst hadn't woken his mother, so Oswald continued looking through the contents of the box. He picked up a large makeup brush, running the bristles over his palm to feel it. Then he picked up a palette of eyeshadow and scrubbed the brush over a shimmery emerald green that he thought looked very pretty. He was having fun again, his earlier frustrations completely forgotten. Oswald swiped the brush over his eyes blindly with utter confidence in his ability despite not having a clue. Once he'd caked enough over his eyelids to make them feel a little heavier, Oswald moved on to the lipstick tubes. He chose a pale pink and smeared it over his mouth, trying to mimic how he'd seen his mother do it.

The last thing Oswald took out of the box was a small container of glitter. This he didn't mind being a little messy. Smiling, Oswald unscrewed the cap and pinched some between his fingers. He sprinkled it into his hair. With the remaining glitter stuck to his fingers, he also rubbed into his cheeks and across his nose. He wasn't able to get all of it off his fingers, but he didn't mind. Oswald enjoyed wiggling his fingers and watching the way the glitter caught the light and sparkled.

At that moment, there was a soft moan behind him. His mother's voice. The bed springs creaked as she sat up in bed. Oswald was so excited. He couldn't wait to show her how grown up he was! Oswald proudly scrambled to his feet.

"Mother! Look at me! Look at me!" Oswald demanded.

"Oswald? Oh..."

"How do I look?"

"Oh! So handsome my boy is!" Gertrud trilled, "So elegant!"

Oswald preened at the praise... until he caught sight of the small mirror on his mother's nightstand. Then he bawled. It was grotesque! His horrified stare reflected back at him with giant green blobs around his eyes and the lipstick, covering more than just his lips, was a great, messy smear around his mouth. It reminded him of a clown. Instead of laughing, Oswald burst into furious tears.

"You lied!" He wailed at his mother and stamped his feet, "You lied! Not handsome! NOT!"

As he carried on, Gertrud got up from the bed and came around to him. Comforting arms wrapped around his tiny, rage filled body. He shook with rage, but didn't fight his mother's embrace. All the while, he continued sobbing. Oswald sobbed long and hard until he couldn't anymore and had to catch his breath. Then he gulped in air and hiccuped. His mother held him close, rocking back and forth to soothe him.

"Oswald?" Gertrud spoke gently once he'd quieted, "Is your mother a fool?"

"No." Oswald sniffled.

"Is your mother a liar?"

"No." Oswald shook his head.

"No." Gertrud reaffirmed, "You can _always_ trust your mother. And _I_ say you are handsome, my little Kapelput."

"But I look like a clown!" Oswald whined.

"The most dashing clown ever I've seen!" Gertrud insisted, "But if you don't like it, we can change it. What do you think?"

"I wanna fix it."

"Okay."

She took his hand then, grabbed up her makeup box in the other, and led the way to the bathroom. Oswald sniffed a few more times. He wasn't crying anymore, but now his nose was runny. Gertrud held a tissue up to his face.

"Blow your nose."

He did and she wiped his face clean. Then he was lifted up and sat on the sink's counter top. His mother set the makeup box beside him and then left to fetch a wash cloth. She returned shortly, wet the cloth, and began dabbing at Oswald's face. The water felt warm against his skin and his mother's touch was gentle. His hurt feelings were all melting away. After a few minutes, Gertrud stepped back. She gestured towards the mirror behind him for him to take a look. Oswald turned back and what he saw made him smile.

"See?" Gertrud tilted her head, "It's not so bad. Just a little too much."

His reflections seemed to him transformed. The shimmery green eyeshadow now looked as he'd imagined it would, framing his eyes more subtly than before over his eyelids. The lipstick she'd removed entirely, but a tap on his leg told him that they weren't done just yet.

"Here." Gertrud said, handing him the lipstick tube from before, "I'll show you."

She helped him turn to face the mirror and then held his hand to guide it as he applied the lipstick. Her movements were slow and careful and Oswald saw how it was more precise than his earlier attempt. 

"Look at me." She said, "Do this."

Gertrud pressed her lips together. Oswald copied. He noticed how this helped make the lipstick smooth and even.

"One last touch." Gertrud told him, pulling something else from the makeup box. 

Oswald recognized the little black tube. He hadn't thought much of it when he explored the makeup before. Why would he want that when there were so many bright colors to choose from. He eyed his mother skeptically as she pushed the tube into his hands. She helped him untwist the cap and revealed a strange looking brush inside.

"This is for your eyelashes. It will make your lovely eyes pop."

As she did with the lipstick, Gertrud guided his hand and helped him apply the black goop to his lashes. It felt strange and heavy. And if not for his mother's guidance, Oswald would have been scared of poking his eye. They didn't poke his eye though. And after doing the first one together, Gertrud let go to let him do the second eye by himself. Then she took the tube from him and twisted the brush and cap back on.

Oswald looked at his reflection stunned. His mother was right. It did make his eyes pop!

"See?" Gertrud said, "My boy is so handsome! Do you believe your mother now?"

"Mmhmm." 

Oswald turned back to his mother and threw his arms around her. He squeezed tightly. She returned the hug and patted his back. He felt so lucky. Acting like a grownup was fun, but it was kind of nice still being a child and having someone there to help him. Oswald's mother always helped him and he knew she always would. He couldn't have put all the complex feelings he had into words, but he wanted to be grownup so he could help her too.

Mother and son spent the rest of the morning playing with the makeup. Oswald told Gertrud about his frustration with nail polish and they painted their nails together. She let him pick all the colors and helped him apply it to his fingers and hers. Sometimes they still messed up, but when that happened Gertrud would just laugh lighthearted and make jokes so that Oswald giggled too. Ever after that morning, Oswald would have a love for fashion and looking his best. And even after she was gone, getting dressed up would always remind him of his mother.

**Author's Note:**

> I got inspired by season 1 episode 2 when Gertrud was talking to GCPD detectives, Montoya and Allen.
> 
> "His clothes are here. My son would _never_ leave his clothes. Oh, so elegant he is. Yes, I show you. Since he was a little one..."
> 
> It made me wonder what Oswald was like as a kid XD


End file.
